


your scars are healing wrong

by brinnanza



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Tough Love, also some impromptu therapy, fjord gets the Talking To he deserves, gratuitous nature metaphors, the chill cleric Loses his chill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 02:41:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17112899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brinnanza/pseuds/brinnanza
Summary: Caduceus straightens his spine, raising himself up to his full height and stalks over to Fjord, who is mid-conversation with Orly. Towering over Fjord, he clasps a large hand on Fjord’s shoulder and says pleasantly, “Mr. Fjord. I wonder if I might have a word with you.”It is not a request.





	your scars are healing wrong

**Author's Note:**

> all I want for christmas is for fjord to get the Talking To he so richly deserves, so I wrote it myself. this takes place after finishing this latest Underwater Business in episode 46. some light speculation for how they come out of that, but no real spoilers for 46.
> 
> Title from Regina Spektor's "One More Time with Feeling"; thanks to Glorya for giving this a look for me.

Caduceus takes stock of his friends as they clambor back aboard the ship after the latest underwater disaster and decides firmly that enough is enough. 

He heals everyone up as much as he still can, which isn’t a whole lot. Magic won’t do much for the glassy, distant stare in Caleb’s eyes or the way Nott’s hands are still trembling. It won’t make Jester’s smile less hollow, won’t soften the hard expression on Beau’s face, won’t change the grim line Yasha’s mouth has settled into. Has has nothing for them except time, tea, and a listening ear, all of which will wait until everyone has gotten a good night’s sleep to heal up the remaining physical injuries.

There is, however, one thing he can absolutely do tonight.

Caduceus straightens his spine, raising himself up to his full height and stalks over to Fjord, who is mid-conversation with Orly. Towering over Fjord, he clasps a large hand on Fjord’s shoulder and says pleasantly, “Mr. Fjord. I wonder if I might have a word with you.”

It is not a request.

Fjord looks up to meet Caduceus’s gaze, sees the same calm, measured expression Caduceus usually wears held with marginally more tension, and a flicker of there-and-gone apprehension flits over his face. Caduceus can just make out the others trading glances in his peripheral vision, but he keeps his eyes locked on Fjord’s.

Fjord swallows. “Of course, Mr. Clay,” he says, equally politely.

The glances have escalated to whispers, and Caduceus tightens his grasp on Fjord’s shoulder fractionally, directing him toward the stairs that lead to the crew cabins. He doesn’t move his hand until they are standing in front of the cabin they shared their first night aboard the _Squall-Eater_. He opens the door, gestures for Fjord to step inside, and then follows him, closing the door behind him. 

He turns around slowly to face Fjord, and can see on Fjord’s face that he’s already decided to play dumb, a tactic which has served him well just in the time Caduceus has known him, never mind the practice it had no doubt gotten before. 

Sure enough, Fjord meets his eyes again, hands loose by his sides and says, “Something I can help you with, Deuces?” His voice is a slow, smooth drawl, intended to disarm.

Caduceus crosses his arms over his chest. There has been more than enough dissembling lately, more than enough deflections and disguises. “This needs to stop.”

A flicker of uncertainty twitches in Fjord’s eyebrow, and then he doubles down. He casts his gaze down to the floor and rubs a hand over the back of his neck, every inch the picture of bashful contrition. “I know you and Nott have had more than enough of the seafaring life, but we’re headed back to dry land now, I promise. Already told Orly to make for Port Damali.” He offers Caduceus a rueful smile.

It’s a good performance, all things considered. It would probably work on the rest of the party, but Caduceus has always had a knack for seeing through such things. “No,” he says. There’s chitin in his tone now, a hard edge that won’t be crushed. 

“No?” Fjord repeats, playing at confusion now.

“No.” Caduceus takes a step toward Fjord. He’s well aware that he’s looming, that his stature tends to intimidate most smaller beings, but Fjord needs a little intimidating right now. This has gone on long enough. “You’ve clearly had a lot of practice with this act, and it’s very well done, but no.”

“What are you- ”

“I know what happened in Dashilla’s lair.” Fjord has the decency, at least, not to deny it. “I know what you and Caleb tried to do.”

“We weren’t actually going to -”

Caduceus has heard a number of beings refer to anger as something hot, like an out-of-control fire, but what swells up in Caduceus now is ice-cold, a frozen, deep-winter wind that rattles windows and crystallizes the morning dew. 

“I _said no_ ,” Caduceus thunders, slamming the end of his staff on the floor. His voice is even lower than its usual register, a deep rumble like an incoming avalanche, and his knuckles are white with his grip on his staff. He tries to reach for calm again, to deliver his piece with the precision he’d intended, but it’s out of reach, a half-dead goldfish under a foot of ice. “I have held my tongue for long enough, and now you are going to listen. You are going to sit there -” Caduceus jabs a finger at one of the cots “- and you are going to listen until I’m finished. And when I’m finished, _then_ you will be allowed to speak. Is that understood?”

Fjord’s mouth twitches like he’s thinking of opening it, but instead, he drops down onto the cot Caduceus had indicated and nods, eyes as wide as a full moon.

“Good,” says Caduceus, tone a few degrees warmer now. He tries for a reassuring smile, but it feels too full of teeth. “Now. Some very questionable decisions have been made lately, and some very rash actions have been taken. It needs to stop before someone is injured beyond what I can repair.” Jester’s tear-streaked face lurks in his memory, how she’d _apologized_ for being unhappy and confessing what she’d witnessed in Dashilla’s lair. “I’m a very good cleric, Mr. Fjord, but I can’t fix everything, especially if you don’t tell me what’s hurt.”

“I’m not -” Fjord starts, but he breaks off abruptly when Caduceus narrows his eyes in warning.

“You are,” Caduceus says. “And I’m very sorry about that, but it doesn’t give you the right to put everyone else in harm’s way. It doesn’t give you the right to play with dangerous magic you don’t understand or flout the laws of nature or be cruel for cruelty’s sake to people who care about you. Power won’t heal what’s broken in you, Fjord, and some kinds of power - the kind you have been messing with - will only take us all down with you.” Caduceus hadn’t thought he’d been shouting, not really, but the silence that rings in the wake of his speech is too loud, and he’s breathing a bit too hard for mere conversation.

Fjord just stares at him, properly intimidated by the large being shouting down at him but still preparing to deflect and run as soon as he’s given the chance. Well, that’s alright; Caduceus simply won’t give him the chance. “It ends here, now.” Caduceus says. “If you want my help, it’s yours. If you don’t, then find it somewhere that isn’t a creature that feeds on destruction or the embrace of a woman that worships it. But you _will_ stop this reckless disregard for everyone and everything, or I swear by the Wildmother, I will return you to the earth.”

Point thoroughly made, a spring thaw takes up in Caduceus’s chest, and he melts with it, slouching back down to his more typical posture. On the cot before him, Fjord’s shoulders are drawn up to his ears and his cheeks are painted with a dark, embarrassed flush. He flicks a glance up from the floor to Caduceus in question, and Caduceus nods. 

Fjord lets out a long, slow breath. “I know,” he says, and there’s no honey in his drawl now, just a bone-deep weariness. “Fuck, Caduceus, I - I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing anymore. I thought I knew what I wanted, where I stood, and then all of a sudden everything just…” He lets out another breath and runs shaking hands through his hair. “It’s like I’m watching myself do all this stupid shit, but by the time I try to stop it, it’s already too late, and the more I try to take control, the worse everything gets. I don’t know how to fix _any_ of it, never mind all of it.”

Now they can have a _proper_ conversation. “Apologies are a nice place to start,” Caduceus says.

The corner of Fjord’s mouth twitches up. “And after that?”

Caduceus shrugs. “Taking a bit of responsibility for your actions wouldn’t go amiss.”

Fjord clenches his hands into fists in his lap and a scowl settles onto his face. “I’m well-aware of everything I’ve fucked up,” he says darkly, too much guilt and shame wrapped up in his tone.

“Are you?” Caduceus says. He closes the remaining distance between them and sits down on the cot beside Fjord. “Not everything is your fault, you know.” Fjord opens his mouth, presumably to protest, and Caduceus puts a hand up to forstall him. “Some things are. Some things aren’t. Some things are my fault or the Plank King’s fault or the Wildmother’s fault or sometimes no ones fault at all.”

Fjord’s frown deepens. “I’m responsible for enough. For this ship and Avantika and Jester -”

“The only thing you can control,” Caduceus says, hearing a bit of his mother in his voice as he speaks, “is your own actions. You didn’t ask for the patronage of this creature, but you _do_ decide whether or not it goes free. The library in Twiggy’s globe leading to a dragon is not your fault, but you decided to touch the disc.” He pauses a moment, considering, and then sets a comforting hand on Fjord’s knee. “What happened to you, Jester, and Yasha, what happened to your friend Mollymauk - none of that was your fault. But the things you do to seek enough power to prevent it from happening again - those are choices you do make.”

Fjord doesn’t reply, guilt pulling at his mouth and twisting in his fingers, and the creak of the settling ship fills the air between them for several long minutes. Oak trees don’t spring up overnight, Caduceus knows, but if Fjord is willing to let him help, he can coax the seed he’s planted tonight to germinate within Fjord.

Eventually, Fjord says in a quiet voice, “Thank you, Caduceus.” He looks over at Caduceus, and the contrition on his face now is genuine.

Caduceus gives his knee a pat. “Of course,” he says. “I’m here if you want to talk. In the meantime, I think we both could do with a nice cup of tea and some sleep. What do you think?”

Fjord nods slowly. “That sounds perfect,” he says, getting to his feet. He moves to the door of the cabin and then pauses with his hand on the doorknob. He looks back over his shoulder at Caduceus and says, “I mean it, Deuces. Thank you.”

Caduceus nods, lazy smile on his mouth, and Fjord leaves.

In a moment, Caduceus will follow. He’ll set his tea kettle to boil, pick out a few blossoms to steep. He’ll check in with Orly and the crew, and then he’ll head for a well-deserved rest. In the meantime though, he draws out his holy symbol, grasps it tightly, and asks the Wildmother if she wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on Fjord. Just in case.


End file.
